


What Is Dead May Never Die

by StarkWolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 08:39:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11144856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkWolf/pseuds/StarkWolf
Summary: Unrequited love , of all kinds, is a chronic curse.





	1. Fire and Blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.  
> My very first work here. The reason I chose to be a part of this archive is that I was simply move by the volume of good and breathtaking pieces here. I am a wannabe writer. And English is not my first language. Every clap ( if there is any ) , every catcall and every criticism is appreciated. Also, thank you for being so inspiring, all of you. :) .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer that ended far too quickly for Petyr.

It is a cruel jape on the part of the Gods, he muses to himself, that he has this involuntary urge to act young and heartsick just by looking into the endless expanse of a pair of blue eyes. Her blue eyes. But youth is not a boon for those who have been condescended by fate at a tender age. Being young, for Petyr Baelish only brings back the bitter taste of copper in his mouth , a piercing pain on his ribs and a wash of warm, oozing red in his vision. But mostly, it brings back the ghastly gut wrenching pain of losing her.  
Her.  
Cat.  
Catelyn Tully, was a woman worth a bloodied massacre of a hundred thousand men and armies of seven kingdoms. Cat was sanity, agony and ecstasy. Cat was desire and death. And post that God forsaken duel, death eluded him, much like his Cat. And since then, Petyr Baelish has been looking for something, for someone else worth fighting for, in a desperate attempt to fill the hollow gnawing endlessly at his insides. He has uprooted kingdoms, got children killed, executed dangerous and horrific conspiracies , basked in the glory of chaos, lied, stole, killed innocents. But his quest for mental peace has remained undone. Not for long though, he thinks, as he looks into her blue eyes again. Eyes that belong to the daughter of a woman he loved . He would have her, he knows. He would have Cat's flesh and bones, the auburn of her hair, and those thrice damned blue eyes. He will have her. Because he can't have Cat. Cat who has been cut to the gut and flown into a river because , well frankly just because she wouldn't give him what he wanted those twenty years back. And then , he will have the throne for himself and finally he would have it all and end this fallacy of a brutal chase. He rebukes himself internally , for feverishly wanting to play young now. Because now is the time for him to play God.  
Then, he speaks, in his most compassionate of fake tones, "Good Evening, My Lady Stark "


	2. The Lady of Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bastard Snow's bastard dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, important things I forgot to mention, the first part has not been properly proofread. Also, I did not plan it being a two chapter story. It just came out like that. Waiting for any kind of response.

He sees sick dreams about her, drifting between light and dark. The auburn of her hair splattered against his pillow. Her body writhing in a rhythm wild and untamed. Her fingers clutched firmly in his dark curls as she moans his name "Jon, Jon, love! " and suddenly her voice changes discreetly . His visions are jerky and incoherent as it abruptly changes to a green boy with dark curls , burning with fever, and another woman with the same red of hair soothingly brushes her cool hands against his burning skin and faint pleading gasped into the night air.

"Jon! Jon ! Love ! " 

"MOTHER ! "

He screams into the black of the night. Jon Snow has not wanted a lot of things in life. He never wanted a castle , nor a crown. He never desired glory, nor fame. For as long as he remembers , throughout his growing up years in this very castle, all he wanted was two things. 

To be called a Stark.

To call Catelyn Stark "Mother" .

But it was a want that was not to be his. At least, not in his two lifetimes. He has died once bereft of Mother's love. And that of Catelyn Stark's. Things will not change much in that accord. Maybe he could bury the issue with his Father's remains in the crypts of Winterfell had he known that the Lady Catelyn was a cruel woman , devoid of warmth and emotions, devoid of love. But in his heart he knew her to be fiercely compassionate and caring. He knew, it didn't come to the Lady to hate naturally. And unbearable as it was, to be at the receiving end of her wrath and scorn, what pestered him, day and night was the fact that it was perhaps as unbearable for her to dole out unreasonably harsh behaviour to him as it was for him to receive it. And the thought, that he caused her these discomforts has kept him up for nights, obsessing with the idea of acceptance, obsessing about her. Sometimes, he wonders, whether his initial attraction for Ygritte has been fuelled by a desire to be wanted by a lady of hair kissed by fire. And now, to damn seven hells, the forbidden desires churning in his guts for Sansa, his sister. But Sansa is not just Sansa. She is her. And a twisted part of him soars in the air with a feeling of validation that Sansa has brought him off late. A feeling of being home, finally. He wonders , had Lady Catelyn been alive, would she finally give in to her noble and caring instincts and accept him for winning Winterfell back for her dear Sansa? Had she been alive today, would she let her call him Mother ? Would this place finally be home ? 

No. His insides scream the answer. For he has proven the worst of her nightmares true. He has snatched himself Winterfell and a crown on his own head. A crown that was to be Robb's. 

Of all the times Lady Catelyn hated him, she must have hated him the most now. For taking what's Father's. For taking what's Robb's. For leching at her lady of a daughter. For tarnishing whatever sublime and beautiful is left of her. As these wretched thoughts swarm in and out of his mind, Jon feels sick and feverish, there is bile rising at the end his throat and all he wants to do is vomit his insides out.  
He is almost thankful for the knock at the door at that very moment when the Lady Brienne calls out for him , a perfectly timed distraction. As a response, he manages a throaty hum of approval and she scurries into his solar. Ignoring the distraught look on his face, she comments with a prudent face

"Apologies, my Lord, for disrupting your rest. For the Lady of Winterfell has seen some haunting dreams and seeks your company for solace. " .


End file.
